Assassin for Hire
Logan's dark hair slipped across his forehead as the wind lifted it a bit. "Are you afraid to die?" He asked the man who was cowering beneath him. He was looking at his out held bowie knife.
"N…n…no." He stammered, afraid that if he said the wrong thing he would kill him without a second thought.
"Then tell me." He said, kneeling down to look at him. "Why were you tracking me?" His grip tightened on his knife, and Logan rested all his weight on his boots. Everything he wore was black—a symbol of the only thing he had ever truly understood—death.
"I…I…he offered to pay…" Logan's knife rested under his chin, and the man became quiet.
"Who offered to pay you?" He asked.
"I don't know his name." The man said, sounding in utter despair. "Really, I honestly don't." His voice was pleading. "Please," He said, "I've got a family!"
"Well then, you're in the wrong kind of work, don't you think?" Logan asked, raising the knife to plunge it into the man's chest.
"PLEASE!" The man yelled.
Images flooded Logan's mind about this man's family and the devastation they would endure if he killed him, and for a moment Logan felt the fear the man beneath him was reflecting in his eyes, the tears that streamed down his cheeks, the heart wrenching sobs, but if one thing stood out in Logan's mind more than pity, it was no mercy. He brought the knife down on the man's chest. Logan watched as the blood poured from the stab wound, as the man convulsed, and once again Logan's mind was with the dying man's family. It's too late now.
He walked away.
The words echoed in his ears. No regrets…No mercy…
thoughts?